


Pull Me Down, Wind Me Up

by Reccea



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hair Pulling Kink, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reccea/pseuds/Reccea
Summary: It’s not game on after that. Bones doesn’t start petting him left and right or anything. But if Jim gets into the right position and Bones is sleepy enough, it happens. And when it happens, Jim’s basically in aroused heaven for a few days. He’s always liked his hair pulled, but it’s never been this big a thing. He’s never spent actual hours of his life trying to plan out non-dates that will end with a little fingers-on-scalp action. It’s like he doesn’t even know himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to [Smitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smitty) who makes me a better writer (and a better person), and helps me in my battle against commas. And thank you to whoever it was that decided Jim Kirk needed longer hair in Star Trek Beyond. Blessings on you and your house, good person.

It starts with a lost bet. 

Jim should have known better, honestly, but Uhura basically dared him and he really kind of loves it when they’re bickering over something. She keeps him humble. And anyway, he gets veto power over her winnings, so there’s no harm.

When she said, “You have to grow your hair out. For three months,” Jim was game. He was going to look hilarious, but it wasn’t like they’d be taking any official photos anytime soon. (Bones has the worst hair in his three Academy photos and his first Enterprise assignment photos. Jim has a framed collage in his living area, just because it makes Bones mad.)

At first it’s a disaster. He looks like he doesn’t own a brush, and then like he’d let Scotty cut it with welding tools. And then there’s that awkward hedgehog phase. That one lasts a while.

Jim’s hair has been an easy short bedhead style for years now and he isn’t exactly sure how to deal with it when suddenly being brushed and not being brushed makes such a difference. Bones, of course, can’t resist making a comment.

"My god man,” Bones mutters, looking horrified and weirdly, also amused. He isn’t looking at Jim’s face, but to the left an inch or two. 

“What?” Jim asks, rubbing his eyes and looking about the away team’s campsite. Nothing seems out of place or dangerous which means Bones is definitely talking about him. “Did I develop an allergy to the bedding again? My face doesn’t feel puffy.” Jim stretches and purses his lips, trying to check for swelling.

“Nah.” Bones shakes his head. “You just look like you let Demora style your hair.”

Jim furrows his brow and grabs his knapsack to pull out his shaving kit and the small mirror inside. His hair has somehow managed to stick straight up on the left side and the right side has developed this oddly angular wave. “Huh,” he says, nonplussed. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to comb it out but it just makes everything worse. Hilariously worse.

Bones coughs loudly in a poor attempt to hide a laugh.

Jim shoots him a look.

Bones smiles, so obviously unrepentant.

Jim rolls his eyes and gets up. He snags Bones’s knapsack and starts digging through it for the hair product he knows has to be in there. 

“Outside pocket,” Bones offers. 

Jim opens the outside pocket and pulls out the small jar of hair product and pushes it into Bones’s hand. “Fix it, Bones,” he orders, because if he’s going to get mocked then he’s absolutely going to get something out of it. Like Bones touching him. Voluntarily. 

Bones snorts. “Aye, Aye, Captain.”

Jim sits down on a nearby boulder and Bones obligingly gets to work. Fixing it seems to involve a lot of hair product, a new side part, and a lot of elbow grease. Bones’s fingers kept scraping Jim’s scalp in a way that wakes up Jim’s nerves and has him hunching over because covering his lap with his hands is a little too obvious.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bones mutters, and Jim thinks he might actually be talking to Jim’s _hair_. 

Jim looks up at him just as Bones makes another sweep of his hair from the top of his head to the nape of his neck. Jim reflexively clutches his hands into fists in his lap, trying not to die of mortification. _Damn it._ It’s one thing to get turned on when you’re doing something purposefully sexy, but it’s another to get hard because your best friend is trying to help you not look like an idiot. Jim takes his only way out, trying to distract Bones with banter. “I’ve seen your hair in the morning, Bones. It’s just as bad.”

Bones scowls at that, but as he works on that back section he asks, “I’m not pulling too hard, am I?”

“Nah,” Jim says, wanting to die a little. And also, okay, wanting to lick Bones’s face. “I’m good.”

“All right.” Bones says as he lets go of Jim’s head and takes a step back. “It’s as good as it’s gonna get.” 

Jim picks up the mirror again, confronts his bright red face, and then angles the mirror so he can see his hair. It’s not styled like Bones’s old professional student look, but instead something a little more Jim. Hell, another inch or two and Jim might like it.

He grins and claps Bones on the shoulder. “Suit up, Bones, we’ve got a royal family to meet and greet.”

The meet and greet - and the rest of that mission - go just fine. Jim gets Bones to wrestle his hair into submission five mornings in a row, which is the most exquisite torture Jim has experienced since some long, amazing nights with Gaila in third year. And Bones isn’t even trying. Jim just has a sensitive scalp and Bones has the hands of -- well of a surgeon obviously. Jim should maybe have seen this coming. somehow. 

The only good thing about the mission coming to an end is that Jim can get off in his room thinking about Bones’s hands in his hair instead of struggling to ignore his hard on while working on diplomatic relations with a culture that wears suits of armor to dinner. 

“Guess you’re gonna do something about your hair,” Bones teases him as they walk away from the transporter room. Bones nudges Jim’s shoulder with his own and he has that sly smile that means he’s teasing Jim and enjoying it. 

Jim still has about three weeks to go on Uhura’s imposed deadline, but he decides right then that he isn’t cutting it short again. Not for a while at least. Not while he can get Bones to help him figure out his options with those dexterous fingers. Jim’s not about to let a golden opportunity pass him by.

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “But I’m gonna need you to stop by before alpha shift. I need a tutorial in front of a real mirror.”

Bones snickers. “Jim, you can do your own hair.”

“Oh, I can,” Jim agrees. “But why bother when I have you?”

*

And it works.

Bones stops off the next morning, bringing with him a spare brush and small samples of several hair products that he keeps stocked. (Jim isn’t surprised, actually, because he’s seen Bones’s morning hair more than once and the man has an alarming number of cowlicks.)

Bones doesn’t stop by often, but enough, and, of course, he’s vocal about a lot of Jim’s hairstyle attempts. The week of it slicked straight back isn’t a winner. Bones complains that Jim looks slimey and Jim would’ve have done away with it after the first day, but Bones keeps compulsively messing it up. Jim is more than willing to look terrible if it means Bones will scratch his scalp every time they see each other. (He has to stop slicking it back after Uhura calls him Harry Mudd, though. It’s awful. Jim can’t handle it.) 

Jim tries slicked back with height for a few days, which doesn’t get his head scratched but it looks okay if oddly theatrical. Then there’s a few days of a left part, then a right part, then left again. Too little product one week, which makes it sort of a fluffy mess that has Bones calling him a “fluffy bunny”. Jim doesn’t know what to do with that, so he adds more product. 

And then one morning he gets it just right. It’s like that fairy tale with the three bears. Quite suddenly, Jim has a Style. And he actually really likes it. 

Jim knows there was an actual survey going around the ship about his hair, Scotty showed him. And his final choice wins by a landslide. Hell, even Uhura says, “Nice hair, Captain,” smugly as if it was her plan all along - and who’s to say it wasn’t honestly? 

But Bones doesn’t say much about it and he doesn’t go about fixing it, so he must approve. Jim’s never regretted looking good so much. He half wants to go back to the slicked-back smuggler look just to get Bones to touch him. It’s ridiculous. 

There’s a rough week about two months later, a virus that had jumps from a colony to the ship. No one gets much sleep - Bones, Jim, and Spock in particular - and not much in the way of downtime. Bones manages to figure it out, of course - Jim has seen his personnel file, he knows Bones is a certified genius - but getting the cure distributed takes a long while. By the end of it, Bones has that look that means he’s too wired to sleep and too fried to think. Jim puts beta shift in charge and drags Bones off for a drink. 

The brandy isn’t great, but it isn’t synthesized and it doesn’t make Bones worry about going blind, so it works. Bones takes his glass, and the plate of food Jim had grabbed, and settles on Jim’s small couch. Jim sits on the floor by Bones’s feet, with his cup and the rest of the bottle, and gets the computer to play a decent movie. 

It’s an old favorite, funny enough to cheer them up and familiar enough it doesn’t require thinking. Jim lets himself slump against the couch, lean his head against Bones’s knee, and relax. They’ve done this a million times, and it’s the easiest, most normal thing in the world.

And then Bones pets him.

It’s gentle, none of the rough handling from trying to shape stubborn bedhead or anything. Just a slow, steady rhythm of his fingers sliding across Jim’s hair like Jim’s a cat or something. And hell, Jim does want to purr. But he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t want to jostle Bones out of whatever fugue state is allowing this to happen. He acts like it’s totally normal and tries to memorize every small stroke so he can remember it later when he’s getting himself off.

Bones falls asleep on Jim’s couch, with his hand on Jim’s hair, and it’s a long while before Jim gets up to bring himself off in the shower. When he comes back, he takes the plate off the couch, and puts both cups and the bottle away. Then he coaxes a mostly still asleep Bones to put his feet up and lie down. He covers Bones with a blanket and if he kisses Bones’s forehead before he goes to bed? Well, no one has to know. 

It’s not game on after that. Bones doesn’t start petting him left and right or anything. But if Jim gets into the right position and Bones is sleepy enough, it happens. And when it happens, Jim’s basically in aroused heaven for a few days. He’s always liked his hair pulled, but it’s never been this big a thing. He’s never spent actual hours of his life trying to plan out non-dates that will end with a little fingers-on-scalp action. It’s like he doesn’t even know himself.

Jim’s a guy who asks for what he wants. He’s pretty upfront about his interests and inclinations and he sure as hell isn’t ashamed. But this is Bones and Bones is skittish at the best of times. So Jim’s not going to rock the boat. Not until he’s sure. Or until he’s too turned on to keep a lid on it. (He knows the latter is more likely, but he’s maturing as a person so maybe…)

And then there’s Yorktown. And Altamid. And everything that had been hazily, distantly pleasant for the months previously, was suddenly sharp, and biting, and joyous. Like Jim woke up and he can see the stars in the night sky again.

The first time Bones pets him after that, Jim’s whole body sings with it. Like every nerve ending is saying _this, this, i want this forever._. It’s so hard not to get breathless with want, not to put a hand on himself and stroke to match Bones’s rhythm. But for Bones it doesn’t seem to have nearly the same effect. It seems like it’s calming for him, like some weird meditative technique. Bones relaxes into it and Jim struggles not go bowstring taut at the first touch. But Jim keeps it together. He thrills and tingles and keeps his mouth shut. Even if he spends half his night imagining that it’s Bones’s hand on him in bed, Bones’s fingers tracing every sensitive spot, Bones’s rough palm sliding down his skin.

Jim’s not good at self denial, but he is giving it his all.

And it works fine - well not fine, but it works - until the time Bones pulls on his hair.

Jim’s room at Yorktown is bigger than his one on the Enterprise. There’s not as much of a crush for space on the station as there is on a starship. His table can seat six - eight if they push it -, his bed is made for multiple people, and his couch is big enough to hold four at least. But Jim still sticks to his habit of crashing on the floor at Bones’s feet. He can’t resist the possibilities and he plans accordingly. He’s gotten commendations for his tactical thinking and he sees no shame in letting that affect his personal life too.

They’re working actually, Bones is going over applications for new medical staff, and Jim is surrounded by PADDs on the floor as he goes over personnel, supplies, schematics, and half a dozen other things. The new ship is another three months out from completion, but preparations have kicked into high gear and Jim spends a lot of of his time eating food with Bones and debating the pros and cons of every big staffing decision.

It’s gotten late, leftovers have been packed away in his (full size) fridge, and they’re both a glass of scotch down. No one’s drunk, just contently relaxed, silent as they finish those last few things they’d meant to do before the night ends. Bones has his fingers in Jim’s hair, but he’s been petting him for probably thirty minutes or more. Long enough that Jim’s mostly calmed down and is starting to melt with it; the muscles in his neck and shoulders loosening and the knot that’s always in his low back barely noticeable.

Bones hums, that definite way he has that means he’s summarily rejected someone and it makes Jim chuckle. 

“Someone not living up to your high standards?” Jim asks. “Or is it somebody that tried to pants you in first year?” (Bones had been older, grumpy, and hot. The perfect target, as long as the perpetrators didn’t care for their health and well being. There had been many attempts. And not one success, to Jim’s disappointment.)

“Brat,” Bones mutters, yanking at the lock of hair in his hands.

The low grade arousal Jim had gotten cozy with comes roaring to life at that, and Jim can’t help the small groan that escapes his mouth.

Bones hand goes still and Jim thinks _damn it_. Anyone else and he’d just straight up ask, but it was Bones for fuck’s sake--

Bones, hesitantly, pulls again.

Jim clutches Bones knee as he sighs, forgetting to be worried or ashamed or really anything but turned on.

Bones clears his throat but he doesn't say anything and Jim pushes his head into Bones’s hand, urging him to do it again. He’s willing to beg if he has to, but Bones pulls again, a little harder, clearly more sure of himself.

Jim slides his hand up and down Bones’s thigh, the edge of his thumb brushing close enough to make Bones shift in his seat. Jim isn't a cautious guy. He's gotten better over the years but all signs are now on go and Jim _wants_.

Bones tugs hard once, twice, and whispers Jim’s name, voice rough and needy but uncertain. And that's the last straw. Any small shred of self control Jim had is gone.

It wasn't exactly his strength to begin with.

Jim pushes off the floor, using Bones’s legs for leverage. Bones makes an unhappy sound, letting Jim's hair go. But Jim just turns around to look at Bones as he pushes Bones’s legs apart. Bones’s eyebrows shoot up, his bereft expression transforming into something curious and pleased. Jim slides his hands up the insides of Bones's thighs and whispers, "I didn't ask you to let go."

Bones grabs Jim's hair again and jerks hard when Jim reaches the fly of Bones's pants and undoes the button.

"Jesus," Bones mutters, approval heavy in his tone. Jim grins, feeling electric from his knees to the roots of the hair Bones has pulled tight.

He makes quick work of Bones's zipper, and reaches around to slide Bones’s pants down and get a good feel in for Bones's other asset. Bones laughs, still sounding a little bewildered but he settles his other hand in Jim's hair too and Jim murmurs his approval. 

Bones is a regulation guy, so he's not, unfortunately, going commando under his pants. But his black boxer briefs do nothing to conceal his very active interest in Jim's decision-making skills.  
Jim bends down to mouth Bones through the thin cloth. Bones jerks his hands, making little sparks go off in Jim's brain. Jesus he was never cutting his hair short again.

Jim nuzzles Bones - he can't resist even if Bones huffs like Jim's gotten off track. Jim hasn't. He just wants to know every touch, every smell and taste he can. Even the cotton keeping him from skin on his tongue. He slides a hand up Bones's stomach while he mouths at him through the cotton, loving the contrast of the smooth skin under his palm and the dry cotton on his tongue.

Bones keeps tugging a lock of hair with one hand but the other is scratching lazy circles across Jim's scalp, making his skin tingle all over. Jim's scalp seems to be connected to every nerve in his body and Bones is finding them all with his careful exploration.

Jim whines a little when Bones's fingernails reach the nape of his neck. He lifts his head to look at Bones and Bones is staring right back him, cheeks and throat flushed, eyes heavy lidded and mouth already bitten red.

Jim thinks _why the hell didn't we do this before?_ but it’s an idle thought that slips away as he eases Bones's briefs down

Bones is fully hard, flushed ruddy, and leaking at the tip. He fits perfectly in Jim's hand as Jim makes a few slow strokes, watching the skin shift, enthralled by the softness against his calloused hands. Bones curses under his breath, voice low with satisfaction and his hips buck up a little with each slow stroke.

_I could take him apart like this,_ Jim thinks. _So slow and steady and he'd just fall to pieces whispering my name._

And someday Jim will. He'll spend an hour winding Bones up and holding him off to wind him up again. He'll take all damn day watching Bones tremble and beg for it. But Jim doesn't want slow right now. "Just keep pulling," he orders before dropping his head down to take Bones in his mouth.

Bones clutches on command and Jim hums as he sinks all the way down in one long slide. “Good god," Bones bites out, fisting Jim's hair in both hands and basically ruining that phrase for Jim forever after. It'll always sound to him like it does now, a pleading prayer as Jim presses his nose to Bones's skin.

Jim settles his hands on Bones's thighs, finding leverage as he bobs his head up and down. He swirls his tongue as he slides up, tasting salt skin and feeling the veins and ridge, learning Bones, memorizing him.

Jim's good at this, he's a man of varied tastes and a lot of practice, but everyone's different and he focuses on every hitch of Bones's breath, every twitch of fingers, learning to read his signs. Bones sounds gut punched when his cock hits the back of Jim's throat. He groans when Jim slides slowly up and down but gasps when Jim speeds up.

When Jim moves his hands to help, to layer skin and tongue in constant movement, Bones yanks hard at Jim's hair and whispers encouragements and endearments. It makes Jim's heart race, makes his skin feel too tight, the way Bones talks like this, how his voice is honey sweet but so husky.

Jim pulls off to say, "Harder," before going back down, speeding up and trying to breathe as little as possible. He feels light-headed and victorious at the way Bones’s hips jump up. Bones is a gentleman, Jim’s sure of it, but he can't seem to help himself, can’t help making Jim choke and groan with it.

Bones gets the picture easy enough, starts tugging Jim by the hair a little off from the tempo, rushing Jim on towards the finish line. Bones starts pleading, unselfconsciously begging Jim, pulling until his scalp aches. Jim slips a hand into his own pants, starts stroking himself off as Bones gasps and whines and bucks.

Jim deepthroats him again, lets Bones pull him so close he can't even breathe. Bones gasps a warning, pulls Jim's head back and Jim fights him, shuddering at the sharp shivering pain on his scalp and the salt taste splashing on his tongue as Bones gives in. Bones’s hands go slack, his breath the loudest thing in the room.

Jim pulls off, dropping his forehead to Bones's thigh, trying to breathe through his mouth and nose at the same time, stroking and stroking himself to Bones's shudders. He comes in his hand and a little on Bones's pant leg, mouthing absent kisses to Bones's inner thigh.

It's a long few minutes as he comes down from the high.

Jim’s knees are sore from the hard floor, his throat aches in a way he thinks he might love, his face and dick cold from the sweat and air. Bones is drawing clumsy patterns across his scalp, a sort of lazy affection Jim has decided he needs constantly.

When Jim finally turns his head to rest his cheek on Bones's thigh, so he can look at Bones, Bones is already watching him, expression so damn fond. Jim strokes a hand up Bones's calf, just to feel him.

"Well, that sure was something," Bones says, voice quiet like he's afraid of breaking the spell.

Jim grins, presses a kiss to Bones's thigh. "That was just the test flight, Bones. Wait till we get to the good stuff."

Bones snorts, expression shifting like he's about to bring Jim back down to earth, but he seems to think better of it. He swallows his words and instead reaches down to tug Jim up off the floor and into his lap.

It's a little ridiculous, with Jim's pants undone low on his ass and his dick still out but Bones is a strong solid wall of muscle that keeps Jim steady until he's settled, until they're chest to chest and Bones is kissing him, trailing fingertips softly through the back of Jim's hair.

Jim sighs into it, letting Bones take his weight. Bones can hold them both just fine.


End file.
